By Catherine Coulter
An extended weekend within the Poconos is interrupted by way of homicide, and FBI brokers Savich and Sherlock needs to glance thirty years into the previous to prevent the killing.
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Extra resources for Blowout
Savich pulled out his SIG, caught up with her, and grabbed her arm. “Slow down. ” The front door was unlocked. Savich held her behind him as he opened the door, swinging his gun from side to side. He saw nothing, heard nothing. ” She seemed more terrified now than before, her pupils wildly dilated, and she was sobbing, incapable of speech. She pointed to the right. ” He moved slowly, carefully, fanning his SIG in every direction. There was no sign of anyone. Nothing. It seemed to be an empty house except for the two of them.
It was better than nothing, though not much. He climbed the stairs, every sense heightened. He kept his feet firmly planted on the wooden ladder when his head and chest cleared the attic opening and looked around him as far as the meager light from the penlight would penetrate. It was black as Sean’s pirate eye patch, with no windows to let in the moonlight. He remained on the ladder, unwilling to climb all the way into the attic. It was too dark and he knew himself vulnerable, even with his SIG.
There’s another thing, Sherlock, something I just remembered. I called you when I had the blowout. It wasn’t ten minutes later that she came running out of the woods. I insisted on calling for help, but I couldn’t get through on the cell phone. ” She held him more tightly. ” She paused a moment, touched her fingertips to his jaw. ” He wasn’t going to like this, he knew he wasn’t. ” He sucked in his breath. “No,” he said, “no, that’s just not possible. That would mean that all of what happened—no, that’s ridiculous.